Being a part of Latin culture is like an all-access pass to a club, a family and a community that fully envelops you with a sense of belonging. It’s the beginning of a conversation that gives you instant friends. It’s a justification about why you get way too worked up about people not seasoning their food (Seriously Barbara? You’re not even going to try and add something other than salt?). We are a passionate people, filled with love, joy and cafe con leche.
I claim my father's Cuban origins with pride and smile as I hear him joke that all great things came from Cuba. But as strongly as I claim it as a part of my identity, there is a small part of me that feels like a fraud. I was never raised in Miami with the rest of my Dad’s family. I was never raised with my cousins being as close to me as siblings. I never learned Spanish, and I never had a quinceañera to launch me into womanhood.
In truth, I’m not well versed with the ins and outs of the Latin culture. Still, I feel a sense of comfort with these people. They have given me my love language of food and touch. They’re the people I blame for why I sometimes talk too loud when excited. And they’re the only explanation for why I firmly believe that Vicks Vaporub can fix anything.
I wondered: what makes us Latino? Is it our appearance, our overly dramatic responses to minor medical issues, the strong sense of family, our passion, our language? Or whether you’re a first generation American or born in your homeland? Is it something we can adopt? Is it a mindset that we absorb through marriage, friendship or cultural immersion? And what if we try to hide that Latino pride with bland chicken and khakis? Could that culture be too ingrained in our DNA that at the first whiff of Barbacoa hair gel and your Abuela’s perfume you cannot help but speak a little louder, love a little harder and move your hands a little bit to much when you start to talk.
I believe there is no clear distinction. The qualifications for entering into this community are defined by the heart with which you enter. Whether you were born in Ecuador, Miami or in Montana with a family of Gringos who believe that bell peppers are the spiciest food there is, if you are willing to throw yourself in head first into a group that will feed you till you burst and scream how much they love you from across the room in Spanish, we will welcome you with open arms. So let’s raise a glass of Malta in honor of a people unlike any other. Salud dear friends, we welcome you.